


A Separate Peace

by Xenjn



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Adventures In Space, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Femslash in future chapters, PTSD in future chapters, Pansexual!Shepard, Plenty of ass kicking, Post ME3, Shepard lives, Spectre!Shepard, Thane Lives, Violence in future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:57:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenjn/pseuds/Xenjn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm a Spectre, Thane. Peace was never an option."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Separate Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Being a hero doesn't automatically make you a good person. Or a selfless person at that.
> 
> The start of a multi chapter of indeterminate length, which has no set updating schedule tbh, it's just something that I've been thinking about for the past year and will update when the plot bunnies strike. Fair warning this is written post-ME3 but I didn't have the chance to play the whole game through, so my knowledge about most events comes from the wiki, plus it'll be full of my own personal headcannons, mostly concerning Drell and their culture etc.
> 
> Warnings for eventual violence, possibly graphic. I'll set warnings for those chapters when they come. As well as post traumatic stress disorder mentions, lots of Thane/Shep smut, femslash, and so much more. But not yet. This is just the beginning.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Though if anyone would like to volunteer then I'd be really really grateful! 
> 
> Enjoy~

The supplies sit across from her in an order that is more meticulous, more surgical than is her norm. Each item is organized in straight lines, by function and size until they're all but glaring at her in their perfect placement. Shepard cracks her knuckles slowly, one finger at a time, then her neck. The off-blue carpet beneath the glass table is nearly obstructed by the sheer amount of items that cover the surface. The biggest of all aside from her viper is a black duffel bag, empty and unzipped. Oddly enough its opening seems to her like a jaw unhinged, a maw ready to be filled.

She twists her fingers until she can no longer coax the gentle pop from them. A freezing shower hadn't been able to leech the remaining warmth from her skin, hadn't eased the twinge of satisfaction that sat heavy between her legs. But it did give a sense of clarity to the world, and between the start and the end, under the spray of what may as well have been ice, she'd come to a decision. The first scratch of an itch that's tormented her for months now.

Underwear goes at the bottom, standard and black and comfortable. As well as her bras, wireless and supportive, breathable. Black tank tops next, standard issue 'men's' pants, all black, all with more and deeper pockets than their 'female' counterparts. She allows herself only two of everything, keeping with rules set a lifetime ago, between instructors and academies. Recalls the sound of her favorite Lieutenants voice, the strength in her single steel blue eye, the purpose and preciseness in which she walked through the ranks, scanning over their equipment. The Lieutenant had stopped in front of Shepard, and she'd felt liquid heat smooth down her spine to be the focus of that gaze.

"Always pack in twos. That's your holy number right there." She mutters aloud, quietly moving with the memory, trying to mimic the hitch of the Lieutenants accent. Despite her near constant intensity she was always so conscious of it, wanting to smother the inflections and always failing miserably.

"Remember cadet, your entire life is that duffel now. If it can't fit in th' bag it's trash, don't matter what it is. You could be dropped anywhere in this god forsaken universe with nothin' but that duffel and you need to be able t'survive. That's th' idea. Tell me your name." Two pairs of socks are tucked into the corner of her bag and she can remember the twist of the Lieutenants lips, the smirk that came when answered. "You'd best pack wisely, Shepard."

Food rations get placed beside her clothes, two water bottles and a spare in the pouch on the outside of the bag and Shepard can't help but be amused. She can recall vividly the sound of her Lieutenants voice when giving commands, yet somehow it's harder to remember the breathless hitch in her tone the first time she'd pressed her down onto a desk, strong fingers catching in her hair as she dragged her tongue between her CO's thighs.

The memory brings a slight brush of warmth and has her glancing up at the white stairwell, expecting an audience but finding it blessedly empty. Her armor has it's own case, closed and locked and resting against the couch. Medigel is next, two packs in the duffel, two on her person along with omnigel. The glass table grows gradually clearer as she straps her pistol to her thigh, sets the spare in her bag, along with six heat sinks and her Viper.

Her movements become methodical. Next is a first aid kit, spare boots, the adrenaline of a firefight, a PADD, a toothbrush, the endless list of names on memorial walls, deodorant, eyeliner, the disbelief that they'd won the reaper war, a bar of soap, a hairbrush, a combat knife, an extra translator, the boredom that began as a tickle until it became an itch, two loaded credit chits, a communicator, the scream of metal grating against metal, the scent of heat sinks, the feel of a ship vibrating beneath her feet, the burn of incendiary rounds, the precipice between life and death-

Another black duffel falls next to hers, the table transparent again except for the two bags and Shepard allows her eyes to close, exhaling slowly. Tension coils tight in her belly, but with it comes an odd relief. This is the moment she'd been anticipating and dreading all at once and now it's finally arrived. She inhales, her voice is steady, her bag is packed, the decision is made, but she finds she can't look at him. "Thane."

"What is our first destination?"

He says it as if he's asking her about the weather, or more aptly, as if they're still on the Normandy, still working for Cerberus towards a purpose, a discernible goal. Not here on the Presidium in her not-quite home with false sunrise streaming in through the high windows. Though her voice may be steady her heart stutters. "You're not coming with me."

Silence trickles into the space between them, oppressive and suffocating and oh, was it supposed to hurt this much? She hadn't expected that, thought she was ready for it but apparently...Opening her eyes she returns to her task, doing a quick once over of her supplies, the drag of the zipper so loud in the quiet that her ears prickle.

"I have been anticipating this day for some time now." Shepard flinches, feels his eyes on her skin and her blood boils at her own cowardice, she can't look at him so she turns to grab her N7 hoodie off of the couch instead. "That it has come is more relief than pain. It was the waiting, Siha," Another flinch and she wonders when that word became such a beloved secret between them. "The waiting was the hardest part. And though fear insists upon filling my mind with doubt and resignation at your words, it is not enough to dull the memory of last night."

He doesn't touch her, but in the sides of her vision she can see the aborted movement, his hand instead sliding behind his back. "It was not simply your body which spoke to me, but your eyes. In their desperation and passion I came to understand two things. One of which is that you have made your decision to leave, that nothing in the universe could call you off. The other is that this is not a matter of love, or a lack of it. This is something else."

With only a tank top and a bra on, the hoodie shouldn't heat her skin so damn much, but it's suffocating all the same. "Or... do I presume too much?" A part of her likes to imagine that it'd be easy to lie to him now, to tell him she doesn't love him anymore, or maybe that she never did, but the throat tightening guilt that comes with even the thought makes it too much to consider.

She closes her eyes again, uses her thumbs to pop her knuckles, rolls her shoulders. "You don't presume." "Then-" She doesn't allow him to finish. "You don't. But you can't come with me."

Earlier, encased in her shower with water beating down on her neck she'd composed her script, with white walls her only audience she spoke of the itching beneath her skin, the restlessness that settles into her limbs each passing day, weighing them down. Explained the message she'd received, the voluntary mission she was offered and how it awakened something anxious and churning within her. Described how she _aches_ for the adrenaline of a firefight, that she sometimes hears the thrumming of her pulse calling to her like battle drums in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night. That more than anything she wants to feel again the jolt of fear that comes when her shields fail, that she misses the pain from a battle wound, the cool, stinging relief of Medigel.

And all of these are reasons why he can't come with her. Because she's fucked up, because she already fought in a war, she _died_ in a war but came back, just to fight and risk it all again. Somehow she made it out alive and unscathed yet here she is packed and ready to go, itching for another fight, practically _begging_ for it.

But now that the opportunity’s come to voice it all the words just drain away like the water of her shower, and all that's left for her is to pick up her duffel, throw it over her shoulder and turn away entirely. What comes instead isn't what she'd planned, but it encompasses everything and then some just the same. What's even more important is that it's a truth she hadn't really understood until this moment.

"I'm a Spectre, Thane. Peace was never an option."

Outside the high windows the Citadel slowly comes to life, snippets of muffled conversation and footsteps fill the silence, as if calling to her. Grasping the handle of her armor case she sets her eyes upon the front door, forces herself to narrow the universe onto that point, and starts walking.

"One year, eight months, and seventeen days." Her steps falter, pause, and it's too quick, too easy. As if part of her were wishing for an excuse to stay just a moment longer. The duffle bag slung over her shoulder is heavier than it should be as she glares at the door, willing herself forward, but for the life of her she doesn't take another step. "What?"

"That is how long _my_ peace lasted." She closes her eyes again, tightens her fist around the strap of her duffel. "Thane-"

"The lie has always been simple, repeated often to myself, to my wife, and once to even you, Siha." His exhale is all air, strong in a way she's still getting used to, her heart clenches and it's just another reason why he can't come, why he has to stay. "I had no other skills so I freelanced." He quotes somewhere behind her, and she knows he hasn't moved closer, not yet, unsure if she's glad for the distance, or resents it.

"That is the lie I yearned to make my truth. It is the lie I used to excuse my actions, my abandonment of those whom I cherish and love. I did not need to continue killing, Shepard. The Hanar released me from their service the day I took Irikah as my wife. Peace was an option I was given. A _gift_ that I knowingly, willingly, rejected." Her nails dig into the skin of her palm, the guilt, the pain in his voice somehow feels heavier than the combined weight of her bag and armor. Eyes burning, she tilts her head back to keep them dry, breathing in deep.

"In truth I had hoped that now, in the wake of my past failures and the pain they have wrought, that I would cling to the peace offered to me, to the gift of a simple life. Yet I find, even now, peace is something I would easily reject again."

The universe is no longer narrowed between her and the door, and the urge to turn to him is strong, too strong. She wants to see his face before she goes, but she can't allow herself even that much. She can't because she is a _coward,_ because she wants him to come with her, more than anything. Wants his understanding, his strength, his wisdom and his experience but more than anything she wants his _love._ Wants to take him with her wherever she goes and not care that it may cost both of them their lives.

Victory has made her greedy, leaving is selfish enough. Asking him to come with her? No. _No._

"Mordin didn't save your life for this." What would he think of her now, if he knew what she was doing? His worn face comes to mind, the smile on his lips that was so wide and so bright his eyes crinkled at the corners. His gentle hands placing a vial with a synthesized cure for Keprals into her palm, given right before the final act of his life. Explaining to her that he'd never had the chance to test it on a living Drell, that it was up to her to ensure his research would be continued. Just like that turning her entire reality upside down with nothing but a kind smile. One act and he'd saved Thane's life, saved countless Drell lives. Surely it would be a betrayal of that act to ask Thane to come, to risk throwing it all away.

"I do not presume to know the reasons for his actions, Siha, they were taken with him to his grave. For his part, for his cure, he has my prayers, my eternal gratitude. But this is not his choice to make. It is only yours, and mine. I believe he would say the same."

The sound of soft footsteps finally come, measured things, slow and distinctly audible. He wants her to know of his approach, giving her the freedom to turn towards him, or to run away. It's a kindness she isn't sure she's entitled to. She straightens her postures, cracks her neck and turns to face him because she's Commander Shepard and if she's going to make a decision she's going to do it wholly, and she's going to meet his eyes when she makes it.

Her voice is hard, unrelenting. "Don't do this just because you want to be with me. I won't risk your life for that." Thane is in front of her now, his hands reaching out for her, slowly, and her fingers twitch when he touches them, but they don't let go of her duffel, don't drop her armor case. And even though she is unrelenting, a small smile comes to his lips. "Never once did you say those words to me during our suicide mission."

The armor case falls to the ground with a 'thump', her fingers gently pulled free but she only grips the strap tighter, watching with her breath caught as he lifts her hand, twining their fingers together as best as he's able, the familiar burn between middle and ring is a jolt of longing in her gut. "That was different and you know it."

Thane inclines his head in a nod, thumb stroking the back of her hand, scales cool and smooth against her skin. "I do. That mission was for the good of the galaxy, and its success spared countless lives. That is why you did not hesitate to ask myself and the others to risk everything. You knew the possible outcome outweighed the collective worth of our lives, yours included. But this, you think yourself selfish for this. You crave movement yet resent yourself for it, and so resent those whom you wish to ask but will leave behind. You fear they will come out of duty, or a debt that has yet to be paid. But Siha, Shepard. If I join you it will be of my own volition, my own choice. I would not dishonor you by doing otherwise."

He knows her too well, her sharp intake of breath is proof enough for that. Thane lifts her hand, pressing his lips to the back of her fingers, dragging them slowly across their twined skin and, oh, they've spent too much time together. Too many long days and nights of moving against one another in her bed, learning every piece of each other, every inch. And with his perfect memory he must recall every secret she pressed into his skin, every plea with her legs wrapped tight around hips, or her body pressing down atop his. He knows her and she knows _him_ , grips her duffel tighter but steps closer all the same, and she can almost feel his body against hers, the air between them less than nothing.

The next breath is more huff than anything, but of remorse or frustration she isn't sure, both consume her in equal measures, along with want, with regret, hunger. "Right, and I'm sure _love_ has nothing to do with your choice." She can feel his smile against her skin, and fights the urge to return it. "Of course not."

"Hm." She tugs on her hand and he releases it without complaint but he's still _close,_ so close and she shouldn't have let it get this far, should've walked out the door and not looked back like she'd planned but she's _weak_ when it comes to him. It's a trait they share so when he leans in she almost meets him halfway, their lips barely brushing before whatever strength she has left kicks in and she's pulling back, heart racing with a sudden desperation rising in her throat.

"You have a _son_ Thane." It's more rasp than words, her jaw clenching tight and she can hear her own voice betraying too much. Thane's body goes still, a rigidness coming over his form as dual sets of eyelids blink slowly, and he inclines his head, finally looking away from her to stare at the far wall.

"Yes. I have a son." His pupils dilate, irises moving rapidly for a split second, lost in a silent memory before he turns back to her and the intensity she finds has her stomach twisting in knots, nails biting into the skin of her palm. "Kolyat is grown, Siha. His soul set on an honorable path. He works his way through the ranks of C-Sec, and though the wounds of my abandonment still linger, they pain him less. Eventually, with time, they will fade. If I leave now with you, he will understand."

" _Bullshit_." Dark eyes widen in surprise, hers would too, if she weren't clinging to the rush of heat that came, trying to coax it into a fire. "You know full well you don't just _get over_ something like that. You're his _father_ Thane, you have a responsibility to him. And it's one thing if the entire galaxy hangs in the balance and I need your help to save everyone, including him. But it's another to go gallivanting off with a Spectre and risking your life. What if he _doesn't_ understand? I don't care how old he is, you're his father _,_ he'll _always_ need you."

He reaches for her hand again but she pulls back before they touch, squaring her shoulders and staring him down hard and maybe she's won, maybe she's convinced him. But when he meets her eyes again all she sees is fierce determination, and a stone drops heavy in her gut. "I cannot force him, however my decision will not change. Kolyat and I will have visits, we will have conversations, and irreplaceable time spent together. My son will have his life. I will have _this._ I will have all that you and I are together. He will learn to understand, and if not..." Thane exhales, closes his eyes and when he leans in she doesn't pull back, his forehead resting gently against hers. "If not, then that is the burden I must bare. That is the choice I make. I am a selfish creature Siha, I make no attempt to deny it."

Selfishness. Another of the many traits they have in common, it must be, because instead of anger his confession ignites a part of her with joy, a piece of the human buried under the Commander and the Spectre, a pathetic thing that wants to be chosen above all others. His eyes find hers again, his voice low between them, warm, and she's reminded vaguely of Samara's vow not so long ago, and yet a lifetime away. "I would join you Shepard, if you would have me. Through peace or war, my place is at your side. My skills and my body are yours to command, to keep, or discard."

The gentle weight of his head against hers retreats, scaled fingers slide from her palm and Thane steps back, bowing his head and she loves him, she _loves_ him. "I leave the choice to you."

Shepard turns before her thoughts have a chance to settle, heart pounding, muscles twitching as she adjusts her duffle bag, her entire life, higher on her shoulder. In it she carries everything she needs to survive. She could crash land onto a barren wasteland, be air locked into the vast emptiness of space, and she could survive with nothing but this bag. She walks to her armor, barely bends to pick it up and it's heavier than it was before, her bicep straining with its weight.

Once again the universe narrows down to the door, to the duffle bag on her shoulder, to the feel of familiar, beloved eyes watching her every movement. Shepard's hand falls on the knob, cheeks itching from the trickle of water. Her voice doesn't crack, but it's a close thing. "You coming or what?"

She's six steps out the door and into the hallway before his feet fall in time beside her. Shepard keeps her eyes straight ahead, swallows the tightness in her throat until it dissipates, sees his own duffel bag slung over his shoulder in the corner of her eyes. The armor case is taken from her hand, easing the burden of it and before she can protest he speaks. "What is our first mission?" To anyone else in the galaxy his voice would sound calm. But she knows better, wonders if he hears the same fear, the same relief, echoed in her own.

"Councilor Tessa's protégé has a bond mate, a Salarian if you can believe it. She was kidnapped fourteen hours ago by an unknown group of highly trained professionals. Possibly military or special ops. I'm the closest Spectre in the area so I was contacted first."

"Ah, a retrieval. And our transportation? The Normandy?"

The bright lights of the Presidium all but glare off the water as they move side by side, walking closer than necessary considering the crowds that part for them. They make no attempt to move apart, each brush of their arms is more grounding, more of a relief than she'd ever thought possible. "No. The Normandy's still down for repairs, another six months at least. Even then I'm not sure the Alliance would be willing to just _give_ her back to me."

"If it were not for your actions the Alliance would no longer exist, all life in this galaxy would no longer exist. That should be incentive enough."

A grin stretches across her lips as she shakes her head. "You know, I actually agree, I want my damn ship back. But it’s never that easy. Luckily the Council's provided us with a small ship. Not meant to be manned by more than three or four."

"Perfect for a stealth mission."

"Basically, but I doubt the councilor cares how we handle it, as long as the Salarian girl's brought home safe."

The light burn of her skin stretching apart when their fingers twine together is nothing short of a miracle, and Shepard allows herself the chance to look at the Drell beside her, quick enough that she sees the hint of a smile on his lips when their eyes meet. "I have only one condition, Siha."

Shepard raises an eyebrow, and if she squeezes his hand just a little too tightly, he says nothing. "Yeah?"

"Please. Allow _me_ to fly the ship."

"You saying I'm a bad driver, Krios?"

"Absolutely horrendous."

Her laughter is an echo off the Presidium walls, lighter than it's been in a long time. With it comes a different sort of contentment, a different kind of peace, and somehow that's more than enough.

-TO BE CONTINUED-


End file.
